


A room empty

by Ladyhydrangeas



Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, Tristan stole a lot of things, hannigram AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:50:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6520471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyhydrangeas/pseuds/Ladyhydrangeas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small fic based on a twitter conversation I was having while watching King Arthur.</p>
<p>Galahad ventured into Tristan's home after his passing, expecting to find many things. Tristan was known to collect anything that found his fancy, but this was not what Galahad had expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A room empty

**Author's Note:**

> Tristhad week has started! What better way to kick things off but with feels?
> 
> Dedicated to Twitter users: @ms_cannibal & @rogue_Stardust

Death was something that they were taught to deal with. 

Galahad knew of that. He knew what life eventually held for everyone. Tristan was the one to remind him of that; constantly. 

"Everyone dies,"

Galahad could hear the words in his head even now; His tone always had been a bit condescending when he said it. As if he could never be apart of that kind of end. As if he was the immortal god of war. A bitter smile formed on Galahads face with the memories. How could he leave now. 

How could he have left so soon. 

In the hands of the bloody Saxons no less! Not that the Saxons were easy to defeat, by all means they were not. It was just...It was just that this whole thing wasn't fair to him! Out of all of the knights, Galahad had thought Tristan would be the one to outlive them all. It left a aching pain in his heart, empty and void of an emotion that the man desperately grabbed on to. 

All he had wanted...

All he had wanted was to find his way home. 

He just didn't realize that he had found it with the man now gone from this world. Well not until it was too late. 

With a shuddering exhale of breath, Galahad turned his head towards the small hut that Tristan had owned. The other knights knew of their relationship. No matter how secretive they had tried to keep it. (Well Tristan wasn't great at keeping secrets anyways. Not with the way HE looked towards Galahad at times) His friends had told him it might be better if he sorted out the man possessions himself. It made Galahad laugh at their notions. They just didn't want to go through THAT mess, he thought with a grin. Tristan was known to keep everything under the sun. 

Hell the last thing Galahad had remembered seeing Tristan taking was the box that their release papers were held in. Who would have wanted that anyways?? May only the Gods know what the man had taken over their years of service. Galahad mumbled to himself, cursing under his breath. It was going to be a mess, he just knew it. 

He knew it and he still wasn't entirely sure he was ready for it. 

Tristan's hut on the outside looked just like everyone else's. Wood for a foundation, sticks all snugged together. It wasn't big. It wasn't small. How very mundane it was for a man who means so much to him. Galahad's face scrunched up in a sort of grimace. He had to admit to himself that this would be the first time that he ventured into the home. Which was kind of weird now that he thought of it. Tristan had always been adamant to stay over at his home. Said that it was roomier and more inviting? Galahad never had time to ask him what that meant when they were together. Not when the first thing they wanted...no..NEEDED to do was to remove the clothes from their bodies. 

The door creaked opened, dust puffing outside from the depths within. It was dark, looked ominous. The idea made Galahad snort out a huff of a laugh that kept himself from choking back a sob. He was stronger than this and honestly all the work he is going to have to do here? No time to cry over it now. 

There was just no ti-

Galahads hands shook at the sight he saw. Two knives laid next to the bowel of apples that were kept next to the entrance for easy grabbing and going. The green apples looking a bit dull from the lack of a personal touch, letting a small amount of dirt and dust to dim the colors. He knew the knives well. Could remember the swooshing of one of them as it passed the side of his head to land smack dab in the middle of the knife he had thrown. The other knife there, his knife. Had his name grooved into the side of it in the leather handle. Galahad had wondered what had happened to the knife after that fateful evening.

The evening that marked the beginning of the end of their days together. 

He picked up the other mans knife, glaring at it viciously and tossing it into the next room. "You should have been with him" He gritted out. The knife sat on the floor, not speaking back to him. Hatred bubbled inside of him; a scream threatening to burst out with vengeance. A scream he was willing to indulge. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WITH HIM!" 

The knife sat on the floor, not speaking back to him. Knives do not speak back. They can not speak.

There was something next to it though. Something familiar from long ago. Galahad stepped closer to it. A bag, His Bag. He had lost that years ago, a battle long and won with hard effort and skill against the woads. Tristan picked it up for him? Did he care for the man even back then? Galahad could remember the constant disagreeing. Morals differentiating from one another and both too stubborn to let it go but now it all seemed like it was for nothing. The bag dampened from something dripping above it. The mans head jerked towards the ceiling; how dare it leak on his personal possessions newly found. 

Only there were no spots on the ceiling where water would be leaking from. Now that just didn't make sense to Galahad. How can his bag be marked with water if the ceiling wasn't leaking? 

His eyes widened slightly. A shakey hand slowly worked its way up to his eyes, brushing away the tears that were falling in great stride now. Crying? He let our a small yelp of confusion filled with the echoing desperate needs of understanding. His throat closing up as the emotions worked themselves out of the man. Now his whole body was shaking; deep tremors that tossed him off his own balance. 

Knees fell to the floor in a loud thump. The knife clattered from the vibrations of it all. The bag dried from the temporary tear markings it wore with bitter pride. Galahad could see now items that he thought long gone, re-found. A toy that he had fashioned for amusement but failed in its delivery, laid in the corner on something that could have resembled a table. Things outgrown that Galahad had SWORN he tossed away. Notes on animal skin that he wrote to The man who died in the battle field. They laid open on the cot that he was sure Tristan slept on. Laid out to display the last things that Tristan had read before packing up for war. The last things Tristan read before traveling out to his death. 

The last shreds of controlled sanity left Galahad freely now. Nothing to stop them. The man choked back more of the screams that had wanted oh so much to be released into the room that was filled with things that were his. His. His. 

He slumped to the side, laying on the floor as his tears fell, his whole body twitching from the emotions he faced. 

This room was filled with the story of his life and his life with his beloved. 

This room lacked the one thing that Galahad wanted more than anything else. 

This room was empty now.

Because Tristan was not there.


End file.
